


Halfblood, Pureblood

by nagapdragon



Series: Growing Up Wizarding [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Pre-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-26 19:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1699148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagapdragon/pseuds/nagapdragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the height of the Wizarding War, Sirius Black starts receiving letters from no other than his estranged cousin, Narcissa Malfoy. He ignores them, of course. There's a little matter of her being a Dark witch and her husband allied with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named that Sirius can't overlook. But when Hallowe'en 1981 rolls around, everything changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Surprise Letters

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is the beginning of an idea I had on how the Wizarding world would have been so different if Harry was raised among them, not in the Muggle world completely cut off. I don't want to spoil anything, but if you have any questions about my world or anything you'd like to share with me, you can find me on Tumblr at nagapdragon.tumblr.com.
> 
> This first part is written from Sirius' POV. Once Harry grows up a little, I plan to switch to his POV for a better view on events.
> 
> Not beta'd, not Brit-picked, so forgive my Americanisms. I'm not trying to avoid them, just writing as it pleases me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd, not Brit-picked, so forgive my Americanisms. I'm not trying to avoid them, just writing as it pleases me.

_February 1, 1980_

_For:_

_Sirius Black_

_12 Grimmauld Place_

_From:_

_Narcissa Malfoy_

_Malfoy Manor_

_Warded for the eyes of Mr. Sirius Black alone._

            “What the hell?” Sirius knows he must have gotten other mail today- he’s been waiting for several letters from various members of the Order as well as expecting James and Lily’s weekly letter, but the folded and sealed letter is the only one Kreacher brought him on the silver tray with his breakfast today.

            “Kreacher!” he hollers, summoning the elf back from wherever he disappeared to. The elf appears with a sharp crack, bowing at Sirius’ left side.

            “Yes, Master Sirius? Kreacher already brought Master Sirius his breakfast, filthy blood traitor he is, and Kreacher has cleaning to be doing.” The elf straightens, waving one long-fingered hand at the table. “Kreacher even made Master Sirius his favorites, Mistress would never approve, but Kreacher did.”

            “Where is the rest of my mail?” He ignores the elf’s dramatics, hoping that Kreacher didn’t do something to his food in return for making his favorites. Living here, he’s learned that when things seem too good to be true, they usually are.

            “Master Sirius has a letter from Mistress Cissy. Kreacher does not remember seeing any other mail until Master Sirius has read his letter from Mistress Cissy. Once Kreacher has finished cleaning, Kreacher will check again.” The elf vanishes, leaving Sirius with his breakfast and a letter that he apparently has to open if he wants to see any of his mail ever again.

            Well, there’s something to be said for living with a house-elf who is by far more loyal to the rest of his Dark family and yet stuck here at Grimmauld Place with him. It keeps him on his toes, even at home.

            His breakfast is surprisingly good after a few more bites. Probably has to do with Narcissa’s letter. If anything would put Kreacher in a good mood, that would be it. A few passes of his wand confirm that there aren’t any nasty curses waiting in the letter, only the spell Narcissa mentions under the address that would erase it if anyone else lays eyes on the contents. Reassured by that, he picks up the silver letter knife and slices off the seal.

            The Black seal, complete even with Toujours Pur inscribed around the edge in letters too small to be rendered with non-magical sealing wax. Not the serpentine crest of House Malfoy. Sirius frowns and pauses. Why would Narcissa seal this with the Black family crest? That breaks tradition, and last he spoke to his cousin, she was joining in his official disownment after he ran away to move in with James. Narcissa, like Bellatrix and Regulus, doesn’t break tradition. Good little Slytherins, all three of them.

           

            _My dear cousin Sirius,_

_I know we last parted on bad terms, and that even before that you were always far closer to my sister Andromeda. I know as well, Sirius, that you and I have been on different sides of this War. I do not regret my choices to follow the family way, no more than I expect you regret yours to defy Aunt Walburga._

_I visited her in St. Mungo’s recently. She has not recovered any from the trauma of your father and brother’s deaths last year. She asks for them daily, the nurses say. You and she never did agree on anything, dear cousin, but surely you can agree that it is difficult to see a once-proud woman brought so low by grief._

            Like Sirius doesn’t know that already. Despite being disowned, as Walburga Black’s closest living relative after the deaths of Father and Regulus, he had to sign the papers to keep her committed at St. Mungo’s. He goes there once every two months with James and Kreacher. If he lets the elf visit his Mistress, he doesn’t get poisoned. Even still, he’s not sure that he could do it without James there to split the insults between them.

            He turns back to the letter, hoping that Narcissa has more to say than reminisce about his truly nasty witch of a mother. Which is the nicest thing he can say about her. Were she still in her right mind, she’d probably thank him for it in between calling him a blood traitor and a shame on her House.

 

_Enough about your mother._

_I do not regret my choices, Sirius, but recent events have perhaps changed my view on a few things. Our revered position in the inner circle is an honor, but one that puts us in great danger. Danger that I no longer wish to be in, not with my first child due a mere four months from now._

_And so I would like to repair old ties. Lucius does not know about this letter and I beseech you to tell nobody else. If this were to be known, it would mean my life and that of my husband, unless he were to be the one to wave the wand and end it. More importantly, it would mean the death of my child. And I cannot let that happen, Sirius._

_Send Kreacher with a reply if you would like to speak to me. If you cannot overcome our history, I do understand._

_Sincerely,_

_Narcissa_

            Like he would believe her. He _incendio_ s the letter, finishing his breakfast. By the end of the meal, Kreacher shows up with the rest of his mail, including a letter from James and Lily. Sirius smiles. He’ll see them for dinner tonight, which really couldn’t come soon enough. The work of maintaining the Order’s safe-house at Grimmauld Place is a pain.

            After having a laugh about the letter with James that night, he forgets about it.

 

***

 

_June 5, 1980_

_For:_

_Sirius Black_

_12 Grimmauld Place_

_From:_

_Narcissa Malfoy_

_Malfoy Manor_

_Warded for the eyes of Mr. Sirius Black alone._

The second time Kreacher hands him a letter from Narcissa and no other mail, Sirius doesn’t bother arguing with the elf. Once again, it comes on the silver letter tray alongside all of his favorites. Sirius spares an idle thought that these letters probably arrive with instructions for Kreacher to be nice to him to make it worth his while to read them.

Once again, it is sealed with the Black family crest. How much of that is to avoid notice by Lucius- Sirius has to imagine he’s in control of the family crest- and how much is to appease Kreacher? It gets in to games far beyond what he wants to figure out. Andromeda was always his favorite cousin, more straightforward and gentle than the others. Narcissa played these mind games, always looking to get something for herself out of any interaction, and Bellatrix was… well, Bellatrix was Dark, even for a Dark family.

He opens the letter, wondering why Narcissa is writing since he never wrote back to her in the first place. That should have been clear.

 

_My dear cousin,_

_I realize that in your lack of response to my previous letter, you have decided not to trust me. I cannot say I blame you. I just wish to show you why, after all these years, I would desire reconciliation with lost relatives._

_We named him Draco. Draco Lucius Malfoy._

_If you will not write me back on the merit of our shared blood, do it for him._

_Sincerely,_

_Narcissa_

 

Tucked into the fold of the paper are two photos. One is of a squalling baby, red-faced and all wrapped up in a green blanket with silver embroidery. A black cap covers most of the baby’s head, but otherwise it looks like any other baby, for all Sirius knows. His second cousin, once removed, he presumes. The other photo shows a woman propped up against an ornate headboard in a pile of pillows, baby nestled in her arms. It has been years since he last saw Narcissa, but she looks much the same. Her blonde hair is pulled back from her face, blue eyes warm on the child in her arms. She looks beyond the frame, speaking to someone he can’t see, and then Lucius Malfoy leans in to quiet his son.

His forearms, Sirius notices, are covered. Hers are bare and unmarked. Not a Death Eater, then. Narcissa, at least. Not that it means she isn’t a supporter, just that she hasn’t made any pledges. That’s probably the only reason she can write to him in secret like this.

 _He looks healthy. Congratulations._ He scribbles a message on to the end of her own letter, warding it with the same spell she used to make her letters visible by his eyes only and re-sealing it. He melts the wax with a flick of his wand, impressing it with the image of a shaggy dog with the next.

“Kreacher!”

“Yes, Master Sirius? Does the blood traitor not like his breakfast, Kreacher is wondering?”

“I have a task for you, Kreacher.”

“Oh, the shame on the good name of my Mistress has a task for me. Immediately, immediately, Master Sirius.”

Sirius rolls his eyes and holds the letter and the photo of baby Draco alone out to the elf. “Wait until I finish all my orders before leaving. This letter is for Narcissa Malfoy, and I want you to give it to her alone. Nobody else should see it, Kreacher. If you keep this a secret, you can keep this photo. This is the newest member of the bloodline, Kreacher, and not even a blood traitor.”

The elf’s eyes light up and he clutches the photo to his chest. “Nobody will know, Master Sirius. For Mistress Cissy alone.”

He vanishes with what might almost be a smile. Sirius tucks away the photo of Narcissa with the boy and finishes his breakfast. Maybe Dumbledore was right about being nice to the elf. Or bribing Kreacher into submission.

Kreacher reappears with a crack, letter still clutched in his hands, hands Sirius the rest of his mail, and vanishes again.

 

***

 

            Kreacher appears in James and Lily’s home in Godric’s Hollow with a crack and a bow. Sirius rolls his eyes, takes the letter held out to him, and asks for him to return with treacle tart. Little Harry squeals, reaching for the elf’s big ears and giving them a tug before Kreacher vanishes again.

            “Should we be worried that your house-elf can find us?” Lily asks, holding her plate of food out of Harry’s reach. He’s hit a grabby phase and has a fondness for throwing food.

            “He’s already under orders not to tell anyone anything he sees in the Order. Dumbledore oversaw that himself. Besides, house-elf magic is separate from regular magic. Part of it is that he can find his master- me- anywhere. On the bright side, since I followed Dumbledore’s advice to treat him a little better, we can have him make anything we want for Christmas dinner. He might even do it without any remarks about Mudbloods and blood traitors.”

            James snorts. “That’d be the day.”

            “James, take Harry so Sirius can read his letter.” James shoves another forkful of food in his mouth, setting his plate far enough out of Harry’s reach before accepting his son. Harry tugs on his shirt and reaches for his glasses. James smiles down at his son, ruffling his already-messy black hair. He has Lily’s eyes, though everything else is all James.

 

_December 25, 1980_

_For:_

_Sirius Black_

_12 Grimmauld Place_

_From:_

_Narcissa Malfoy_

_Malfoy Manor_

_Warded for the eyes of Mr. Sirius Black alone._

 

“Who sent you a letter important enough that it couldn’t wait?”

Sirius sighs. “My cousin Narcissa. She wants to rebuild old ties ever since her son was born.”

“Your cousin Narcissa as in the one who married Lucius Malfoy? Death Eater Lucius Malfoy?” James frowns.

“You see why I haven’t written her back.” Sirius snaps the seal after only a perfunctory check for curses and starts reading the letter.

 

_My dear cousin,_

_Happy Christmas. I hope this letter finds you healthy and happy. I appreciate your response to my last letter. It gives me hope that despite past choices, we may be able to make the best opportunities for the future._

_I have pictures of Draco’s first Christmas morning for you. Lucius and I do not normally do much in the way of presents, but we did for Draco. We do have the formal pureblood dinner tonight- the Parkinsons are hosting- but that is more for the adults at this point._

_As always, I hope that you can find it in your heart to believe in me. The intervening months since my first letter have not swayed my opinion in that regard in the slightest. I can only hope that by showing you my son’s growth, you may see that he deserves better than this war. He deserves a safe place to grow up in._

_Surely you and I can both agree on that._

_Sincerely,_

_Narcissa_

Enclosed are five pictures of Draco Malfoy. One is a family portrait, another has the little boy on Narcissa’s lap tearing into a present, and the others are all on his own. He smiles at the little boy. At only two months older than Harry, they still look quite a bit like generic babies, as far as Sirius is concerned. Harry has black hair and green eyes, Draco has his father’s white-blond hair and grey eyes. Otherwise- babies.

“So? What does she want this time?”

“Sent me pictures of her kid. It’s part of her campaign to win me over with the smiles of children. Or child, I suppose.”

Lily reaches for the photos and he hands her one of them, one in which the kid is happily shredding some wrapping paper. He likes three of them and wants to keep them, leaving only two as possibilities for his next bribe to Kreacher. If Narcissa’s spell extends to the photos, better to test it on only one.

“Cute kid. Are you going to hold the others back, too?”

“Didn’t know if the spell on the letter extended to the photos,” he mumbles inarticulately, handing Lily the rest. She flicks through them, doing a practiced trade of photos for Harry with James. She’s bemoaned the loss of many a photo to the grabby tyke.

“Lily’s right. Cute kid.” James flops back on the floor, throwing a dramatic arm across his face. “I must be going soft, being a dad now. I just called a Death Eater’s brat cute.”

“Cute is cute,” Lily argues. Sirius rescues one of the photos, handing it to Kreacher wordlessly when the elf appears with his dessert. That earns him a spoon instead of hunting for one in the Potter kitchen. James may be his best friend and he would give his life to protect both him and Lily, but they are not the neatest.

Their kitchen is one-half organized the way a magical kitchen is, one-half the Muggle way, and those halves aren’t neatly divided down the middle. More like half a drawer here, a quarter of a cabinet there, and so on. And with Harry’s birth and all the getting up in the middle of the night to appease the little tyrant that they’ve been telling him about? Messier than ever. Bowls stacked with the plates, cups invading all the other cupboards, and finding a spoon is a treasure hunt. Last time Sirius was here, he tried _Accio Spoon_ and ended up with nine spoons, two wooden spoons, a slotted spoon, a serving ladle, a bowl of Harry’s with a spoon attached by a string, and two plates that are convinced they are spoons.

Not worth the trouble.

“Kreacher brought Master Sirius spoons for the blood traitor and the Mudblood, too,” Kreacher adds conspiratorially, but not quiet enough for Sirius to hoard his treat.

Soon enough, his treacle tart is gone and James is taking a sticky baby for a bath while Sirius and Lily prepare the presents.

“Someday, when this is all over, you’ll have to come to Grimmauld Place for the holidays. Godric’s Hollow is nice, with its quaint charm, but if I can get Kreacher to decorate the way it was in my childhood, it’s amazing. Well, with less Dark magic and more smiling, but the aesthetic appeal is the same.”

“Someday soon, hopefully. This can’t go on forever. These walls will only be big enough to raise a child in for so long.” Lily sighs, the first sign of frustration Sirius has seen with their situation. He knows, theoretically, that they get frustrated with being trapped. They were active members of the Order, just like him. At least he still gets to go to meetings, though he isn’t allowed to do the more dangerous stunts any more. Part of keeping James and Lily and baby Harry safe is making everyone think he’s their Secret-Keeper, not Peter.

At least he isn’t stuck in the same place all the time. He gets to visit other safe-houses, babysit the Weasley kids sometimes, and so on. All six of them, and Molly told the Order the other day that they have another one due in the summer. It isn’t the life they all expected when they joined the Order, but Dumbledore has been firm on that point. He’s the only person apart from Sirius himself, James and Lily, and Peter who knows the truth of who the Potter’s Secret-Keeper is. Lily thought it best to keep him advised, as the head of the Order.

“Here we go, Harry, time for presents,” James croons as he returns to the sitting room, planting Harry in Sirius’ lap. He wraps his arms around his godson, grins at his best friend, and floats a present over to himself to open in Harry’s stead.

All in all, life is good.


	2. Hallowe'en, 1981

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exactly what it sounds like on the box. Hallowe'en, 1981, or the night that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named paid a visit to Godric's Hollow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter, but I'm going with natural breaks and posting more chapters until I start to catch up to myself. I write fast, so long as I have ideas. 
> 
> Not beta'd, not Brit-picked, so forgive my Americanisms. I'm not trying to avoid them, just writing as it pleases me.
> 
> Again, you can find me on Tumblr at nagapdragon.tumblr.com. Come and say hi!

 

 

Sirius’ head snaps up from where he was falling asleep rocking Ginevra Weasley during the Order meeting when Fawkes flies in, sounding a mournful alarm. Dumbledore uses the phoenix to alert him when any significant changes take place on the magic around any of the Order safe-houses. All the witches and wizards reach for their wands, preparing for an attack.

“Where?” he hears a voice ask Dumbledore, realizing that it is his own only when everyone else in the room turns to look at him.

Dumbledore gives him a long, sad look, and he knows. He knows.

“I’m going to kill Pettigrew,” he snarls, waking the baby and handing her as gently as he can back to Molly. He stalks towards the door with no plan where to go, just to find that lying rat and kill him. He had to have told. He swore. He _swore_! James and Lily put their trust in him.

“Sirius, what’s going on?” Remus grabs his arm, halting him in place.

“You tell them, Dumbledore. I’m going… _there_ … and I’ll track the rat to his hole. He won’t live long enough to regret his betrayal.” He yanks at Remus’ grasp, trying to free himself fruitlessly.

“Sirius.” Dumbledore uses the teacher voice, the one Sirius hasn’t heard from his since the last stupid prank he and James pulled during their time at Hogwarts and got caught for _oh God James, James_...

“Take Sirius and do what you need to,” Molly’s voice cuts through the clamor rising around the table, then returns to shushing her baby. “We’ll stay here so you know where to find us if you need us.”

“Thank you, Molly,” Dumbledore replies, his face more grim than any of them had seen over the course of this war. Remus only releases Sirius’ arm when Dumbledore takes the other one, leading him out the door, just past the anti-Apparation wards, and then into a Side-Along Apparation to Godric’s Hollow.

The house- James and Lily’s home- is in ruins. Sirius sinks to his knees in the autumn night, choking back the grief that threatens to overwhelm him. Grief will have to wait. Mourning his best friend, the brother he always wanted instead of Regulus, has to wait until he avenges them on the man who betrayed them. And after that, he’ll go down against the Dark Lord with the Killing Curse on his lips.

“How long?” he manages.

“I knew something happened at one of the safe-houses a couple hours ago. I sent Fawkes to check them all, knowing that only Voldemort himself would be strong enough to break wards like those I helped lay that quickly and that if he was involved, we were already too late. That’s why I convened the emergency meeting.”

“A few hours ago? They’ve been in there, all three of them dead, for hours and you just now told me?” Only his deep and abiding respect for Albus Dumbledore keeps Sirius on his knees instead of trying to choke answers out of the powerful wizard.

“Rubeus Hagrid will be here soon to help us retrieve the bodies, Sirius. Once you can think again, you will realize that it was in all of our best interests to ensure the safety of the rest of the Order rather than retrieve the bodies faster.” Fawkes flies over the ruins, keening, while the rest of the Wizarding populace of Godric’s Hollow trickle out from their homes, feeling mildly safer in the presence of Dumbledore.

Their reactions range from shocked and horrified that an attack happened so close to them to blank, unable to care beyond their own fear. None of them know who lived here. None of them know about the Prophecy, about the last hope of the Wizarding world against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named dead in his cradle.

“You’re certain that they’re all dead? All three?”

“Witnesses and trace magic all point to three uses of the Killing Curse before the house was blown apart. I’m sorry, Sirius. They’re gone.”

Hagrid arrives then, riding Sirius’ motorbike. He loaned it to him a few weeks ago so he could get around more easily without being able to Apparate. He certainly wasn’t using it. Safer to Apparate from safe-house to Grimmauld Place and back, and that’s all he ever does.

“Hagrid, if you would. Fawkes located James at the entry hall and Lily at Harry’s room. Unfortunately, I don’t know the boy’s magical signature to trace him, so I would assume he is with one of his parents.” Dumbledore murmurs quietly to the half-giant. Hagrid nods, heading for the ruins and starting to dig through where the entry hall used to be.

The Wizarding residents start to drift away when neither Dumbledore nor Sirius will tell them who died here, preferring the warmth and relative safety of their beds. So far, the Muggles haven’t noticed. Residual wards, perhaps. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named may not have bothered to break the wards that keep the Muggles from noticing the house, after all, but they won’t last long with the house in ruins.

Hagrid stops, cocking his head to one side as if listening to something, and then dashes to a different part of the ruins. Sirius rises before he quite gets his feet under him, wobbling into Dumbledore’s side, and then takes a half step forward before the man can stop him. Hagrid is doubled over in the ruins, digging furiously through the rubble, and then they all hear it- the cry of a confused child.

Even Dumbledore can’t stop him then, not without jinxing him. He sprints towards Hagrid, stumbling through the rubble and somehow managing not to break his ankle. Sirius doesn’t even manage to take Harry from Hagrid, collapsing against his side with one hand on his godson, sobbing with grief and the relief that at least, somehow, they saved their son.

“Take him, Sirius,” Hagrid rumbles, tears streaking down his face. “I still have to retrieve James and Lily.” He presses the boy into Sirius’s arms, waiting only long enough to make sure he wouldn’t drop him, and then shoos Sirius away from the ruins.

“I don’t know how, but he’s alive,” Sirius chokes out to Dumbledore, glancing down at Harry. “Don’t know where the scar came from, though. Looks like it’s been there forever, but I saw them just a few days ago and it wasn’t there.”

Dumbledore mumbles something to himself, too quietly to be heard.

“What?”

“The Killing Curse rebounded. Lily must have died protecting him. Mother’s love, Sirius Black. Mother’s love.” Dumbledore raises his voice loud enough for the remaining witches and wizards to hear, casting his Patronus to carry his message back to the Order. “Lord Voldemort failed to kill Harry Potter with the Killing Curse. It rebounded and destroyed him instead.”

The whispers begin, turning quickly into people dashing off to tell their neighbors, tell their families, tell everyone. If Albus Dumbledore says it, it must be true.

“Give him here, Sirius. I’ll take him to Lily’s sister to be raised.” Dumbledore reaches for Harry and Sirius’ arms tighten reflexively around the boy.

“No. I’ll raise him. Lily hated her sister, she was terrified of magic and despised James and Lily both. She wouldn’t want Harry to go to Petunia.”

“He’ll be safer there.”

“You said it yourself, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is dead. He’ll be safe enough raised among the rest of the Order until all the remaining Death Eaters are taken care of. I won’t hand him over, Dumbledore.”

“There’s a chance that the magic that protected him from the Killing Curse would be carried on if he lives with them. Ancient magics, Sirius, not the type we control any longer.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“You come from a very old and Dark family, Sirius. They can bypass your wards. How will you keep Harry safe against them?” Dumbledore almost sounds exasperated, if Sirius thought that the man could deal with young witches and wizards day in and day out and still be exasperated by them.

“Narcissa,” he blurts out without thinking. She’s kept sending him letters, two more since Christmas- one on Imbolc, the traditional time for new beginnings, and one on Draco’s first birthday- and he’s kept not really replying to them.

Dumbledore waits for him to continue while all around them, people are toasting to the baby in his arms without breaking the grim quiet of those present on the site of a tragedy.

“My cousin Narcissa started writing to me over a year and a half ago, wanting to reconcile. She didn’t feel safe in their position by his side,” Sirius jerks his head towards the ruins for sake of brevity, “with a child on the way. I haven’t agreed to speak to her, so she writes every few months and sends me pictures of her boy. He’s only a bit older than Harry.”

Dumbledore takes on that inscrutable look that he has when he’s planning or about to trounce McGonagall at chess. It’s far enough from his sad determination to take Harry from Sirius that he’s as confident as one can be, when dealing with Albus Dumbledore, that he won.

“Write back to your cousin,” Dumbledore stipulates, “and raise Harry among the Order, pureblood society, and the rest of the Wizarding world alike. He will be their hero, after today. He can’t be partial to any one part of the Wizarding world.”

“Thank you, sir. Can I take him home now?”

“Take your bike. Fawkes will tell me when to come bring Hagrid home.”

Sirius doesn’t say another word until he walks in to Grimmauld Place. A note is propped up on the table in Molly’s handwriting.

 

_Sirius,_

_Albus told us. I’ll expect you at the Burrow for breakfast with the boy and then Arthur and I can go to Diagon Alley with you to get everything you’ll need to take care of a baby. My Bill and Charlie are old enough to watch the other boys, now that the War is over, and I can take Ginny with me._

_Take a moment to mourn them, Sirius, but Harry needs you now._

_We’ll see you in the morning,_

_Molly and Arthur_

“Kreacher,” he calls. The house-elf appears, yawning.

            “Master Sirius calls, even though it is the middle of the night and Kreacher has much work to be doing in the morning?”

            “Kreacher, I need you to find me some place for Harry to sleep in my room for tonight until I can get something proper in the morning. And I don’t need breakfast in the morning. Just something for Harry.”

            “How old?” Kreacher asks.

            “Just over a year.”

            Kreacher yawns again. “The crib Master Sirius and Master Regulus slept in, Kreacher will move it to Master Sirius’ room now. Does Master Sirius require anything else?”

            “That will be all, Kreacher.”

            The elf disappears, off to fetch the crib from whatever corner of the house he has it stashed in. Sirius relaxes a little. He was fretting on the drive over about how he was going to take care of a baby. He’s good with Harry, but he wasn’t ready to raise him. He’d forgotten about Kreacher. House-elves do most of the work involved in raising young children in pureblood families so their parents can avoid messes.

            He doesn’t want to raise Harry like that, but at least Kreacher will know what to do until he gets it all figured out.

            “Come on, Harry,” he murmurs to the boy snoring softly in his arms. “Let’s go to bed and in the morning, you’ll meet some new people. They’ll love you, I’m sure.”


	3. The Burrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius takes Harry to the Burrow to have Molly and Arthur help him figure out what to do with a 1 year old, returning home to a surprise from Kreacher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta'd, not Brit-picked, and I'm not really trying to avoid my Americanisms. Questions welcome at my Tumblr, nagapdragon.tumblr.com!

Sirius’ wand alarm goes off in the morning and he wakes abruptly rather than rolling over and complaining to Kreacher to give him more time. It all hits him like a strange nightmare. James and Lily, dead protecting their son. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, dead trying to kill Harry. Hagrid rescuing Harry from the ruins. Arguing with Albus Dumbledore for the right to take care of him. Bringing him home.

            Sirius drags himself out of bed and over to what he really can’t think of as Harry’s crib. Harry’s crib is the one James and Lily had him in, a perfectly Muggle crib except for the protective spells they wove around it to keep him from getting out of it or hurting himself against the sides, in the Wizarding way. It isn’t this ornate monstrosity that Sirius has no idea where Kreacher had it hidden.

            “Kreacher has the boy, Master Sirius,” Kreacher announces as Sirius gets near enough to see that the crib is empty. “The boy was hungry, Master Sirius, and Kreacher fed him breakfast so Master Sirius could sleep longer.”

            “Thank you, Kreacher,” he manages, fighting down the panic at seeing the crib empty. He should have known that Kreacher would feed Harry. Kreacher and the his mother, who was the other house-elf serving them at Grimmauld Place when he was a child, did all the work of raising Regulus and him. His mother only ever wanted to tote them out in dress robes at occasions like the yearly pureblood Christmas dinner event. She was relieved when they went to Hogwarts, up until the point where Sirius sorted in to Gryffindor. Walburga Black, traditionalist and pureblood supremacist that she was- is- was horrified that a son of hers could ruin the family line like that.

            He takes Harry, still dressed in the same pyjamas he was in when they rescued him from the ruins, from Kreacher and wishes he had clothes for him. Anything he or Regulus wore would be moth-eaten by now. And his mother always had horrid taste.

            Without more delay, he fire-calls the Burrow to make sure either Molly or Arthur are awake, then Floos over with Harry. Wary of Death Eaters coming after Harry, he tells Kreacher to keep the house locked down unless otherwise ordered by Sirius himself.

            “Sirius,” Molly calls from the kitchen, “in here please. Fred, George, you sit down and behave yourselves. We have guests.” Despite her warning, the three-and-a-half year old twins go tearing off through the living room, ten-year-old Bill dispatched to catch them. Around the table, the other Weasley boys sit more or less behaved while Molly manages all of breakfast with plates whizzing about. At one end of the table, Arthur is holding Ginny’s bottle and trying to convince Ron that food is for eating, not for playing with. Sirius stands awkwardly in the doorway to the kitchen, unsure of where to go.

            “Oh, just sit anywhere. If we can get Fred and George to sit still long enough to eat, we’ll be lucky. The celebrations last night, after, woke them all up and got them all riled.” Molly bustles over, leaving her spells in charge of finishing breakfast. “This is him, then. The Boy Who Lived. Well, well, little Harry Potter, let’s get you cleaned up. Something of Ron’s will fit in the meantime.”

            Breakfast serves itself with a flick of her wand, and then Molly takes Harry from his arms and off from the kitchen with a last admonishment to Charlie and Percy to help their father keep the little ones in line. Sirius follows her as a plate flies into his hands, tableware floating by his nose until he takes it.

            For the first time since they took him from the ruins, Harry protests, reaching back for Sirius. He was probably just overwhelmed last night, with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and the destruction of his house and then all those new people looking at him. Sirius is the only living person who he knows. He visited at least once a week, sometimes more when he could, and so often walked in the front door to have Harry pushed in his arms so James and Lily could take a break.

            He stays tight to Molly’s side, always within Harry’s sight and usually within his arm’s reach. Molly takes him up to a bathroom on the second floor, running a warm bath and leaving Sirius with a soapy Harry and instructions to _wait there for me, you’re going to get soap in his eyes and not know how to fix it_. Harry, for his part, seems perfectly content to cling to Sirius’ hands and look around this strange new place.

            “It’s going to be a bit overwhelming, I know,” Sirius starts talking to him, not knowing how much Harry understands while the boy is still mute. He knows he isn’t usually silent. Far from it. Shock, he guesses, shock and change. Sirius thinks that’s going to be the answer for a lot of things. “All your life, it’s been your Mum and Dad and me in that little house in Godric’s Hollow. That’s all you know. Three people, a cat, and a house.”

            Harry looks up at him, those ever-so-familiar green eyes strange looking out of the face he’s seen a hundred times in James’ baby photos. Now that he’s actually looking, now that they’re a little older, he can see the differences between Harry and Narcissa’s Draco. Harry has James’ features in the shape of his face, features that speak of Muggle ancestry somewhere high in the family tree that was enough to keep the pureblooded Potters out of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Magic has a way of sharpening features, making dramatic contrasts, the way they are in his own family. Draco has those features, he can tell already, the bone structure of the historically beautiful Blacks from his mother and the coloring of the Malfoys.

            “I wonder what happened to your cat,” Sirius muses aloud, drawing himself back to talking to the child in front of him. “I imagine that, unless the collapse of the house got it, someone in the village took it in. Probably that. Cats are survivors like that. If someone from the Wizarding part of Godric’s Hollow found a cat with a tag saying it belonged to the Potters, I think they’ll reach out to the Order to return it to you. Most likely, it went to a Muggle family who will just accept their new cat gracefully.”

            “I would wait before getting him a pet, Sirius. You’re going to have your hands full just taking care of him.” Molly is nudging him away from the tub before he quite notices she’s there. Bad sign for a wizard who was on high alert, in the middle of a war, until yesterday night.

            “You would know best, Molly,” he manages a chuckle, even though he let the pause in the conversation grow too long. Molly ignores him, clucking over Harry while she finishes washing him with all the efficiency of a mother who has done this too many times with too many struggling children. Sirius was here once on Order business when Molly was fighting both twins into the bath at once. Seeing one nude child go streaking through the middle of their meeting was quite enough to halt any serious discussion. The second, identical child who followed just made half of them burst into immature giggles while the older and wiser half gave them disapproving looks.

            “Oh, look at you,” Molly coos. “You’ll be a handsome one some day, I can tell you that. Apart from all these fresh scrapes and that scar, there’s barely a mark on you. My boys are always getting bitten by gnomes and falling out of trees or off broomsticks. Even the little ones can’t stay out of trouble, not with the others around. We do our best to let children be children,” she adds to Sirius, “even with the War on.”

            “I’ve watched your boys often enough to see that. Any other children I’ve seen around- Wizarding children, I mean- are more subdued than they should be at their age. Yours are all still lively.”

            “As well children should be.” Molly lifts Harry out of the tub, drying him off briskly and instructing Sirius to pull the drain and help her get Harry dressed. Ron’s several months older than Harry and already a bit larger. Molly brought in Wizarding child robes for Harry, arguing that it would look better on him baggy than baggy Muggle-style clothes would.

            “You are ready, Sirius, for everyone to be looking at him? They aren’t going to leave us alone once we get to Diagon Alley. You barely touched your breakfast.”

            Sirius looks over at the plate he set by his side while talking to Harry, surprised to find it a quarter empty. He doesn’t even remember eating that much. Nothing will stop Molly once she’s on the warpath. He learned the hard way that, after becoming a mother, she believes she has the right to mother everyone. He picks his plate back up and starts eating again before Molly manages to toss a Warming Charm on it. She lifts Harry on to her hip, convincing him with some sort of super-mother magic that she’s alright, because he doesn’t start fussing when she heads back for the rest of her family and Sirius lags behind, a step out of sight.

            “Finish your breakfast, Sirius Black, while I see if I can tempt him to eat anything. Has he eaten this morning?”

            “Kreacher got him up and fed him,” Sirius admits. “I don’t know what he ate or how much, but I can summon Kreacher and ask.”

            “Oh, that doesn’t matter,” Molly says, waving her wand as she sets Harry in a chair, magically altering it so he won’t fall to the floor if he squirms. Harry looks at the faintly shimmering spell with surprise and Sirius smiles. He and James tried to feed Harry like this before, but neither of them were very good at the spell. Lily always intervened, putting him in a Muggle high chair and giving them scathing looks for trying to feed her baby improperly.

            “Doesn’t matter?” he echoes, caught up in his own reverie. Molly doesn’t seem to notice, busy now coercing all her little ones to eat while the older three help with the dishes.

            “At that age, they’ll eat what they want and however much they want. All we can do is give them a lot of healthy choices and let them have their way. The good thing about having six growing boys here is that whatever Ron doesn’t eat, one of the others will take. They don’t mind if it’s cut up in to child-sized pieces first.” Molly floats a series of  small portions over to Harry, all of them floating within his reach. He pokes a bowl with what looks like oatmeal in it, watching as the bowl spins and almost tips over, sloshing dangerously close to the side before catching itself. Harry looks up at Sirius, smiles, and pokes the bowl again before getting in to the messy business of trying everything.

            By the time he’s decided he’s finished and Molly has managed to stuff a second and a third plate of breakfast in to Sirius, Harry and Ron are both due for another bath. Molly puts one child on each hip and tells Sirius in a quiet voice to go out to the garden and take a moment to mourn before his entire life is taken over by caring for Harry.

            He obeys without thinking, finding himself out in Molly’s overgrown garden with the sounds of the older boys working in the vegetable garden and the twins trying to help in the background, all of it under Arthur and little Ginny’s supervision. Potions herbs grow in among flowers that Molly is fond of, a true witch’s garden as the folklore would have it. She’s a rare pureblood in that she tends to her own garden even still. Most of the purebloods who are actually still pure in this day and age are the pureblooded elite, the circles he came from, and they have house-elves to tend the garden for them. Too high to tend it themselves, of course, but no proper witch would be caught without it. Especially a witch or wizard who likes to brew Dark potions that require rather obscure herbs that they would rather not be seen buying.

            Breathe, Sirius.

            He settles on a bench in the midst of some of the most beautiful flowers, a well-worn circuit to all of them in the poorly-graveled path at his feet. He should send Molly some fresh gravel for her help, make this space look the way it ought to. Scratch that- _anything worth doing for a friend is worth doing yourself, Sirius_ \- James would have him come and do it himself. Next time he brings Harry here, perhaps.

            “I’ll raise him the best I can, James, Lily,” he speaks aloud, his voice barely above a choked whisper. “Give him all the best of all of our upbringings. For you, Lily, I’ll take him out in to the Muggle world. Go see shows, go to the zoo, take Muggle swimming lessons, maybe. Go places where nobody will know that he’s the Boy Who Lived, let him be just Harry. For you, my brother in all the ways but blood, I’ll take him out in Wizarding society and let him play with other kids his age. Ice cream at Fortescue’s, maybe a pet from the Menagerie, learning to fall off a broom with the Weasley boys. All of the things that you got to do as a Wizarding child raised in our society without being from the elite. And then I’ll raise him a little as my own, like Dumbledore wants. Reconcile with Narcissa, take him to the pureblood events once they start inviting me again, teach him high-society manners and the one thing I took from my upbringing. When you have people who care for you, be loyal to them. I know loyalty is such a Gryffindor trait, and all of us should know, but it’s true of the elite as well. Trust nobody, but once you can trust somebody, you would do anything for them.”

            Sirius sighs, listening to the wind whistle through the long grasses where the Weasleys used to host Order Quidditch matches, back in happier days before He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named got so powerful and things got so dangerous. Back when he was still an outcast from his family, not the head of House Black.

            “We always laughed about it. Live hard and die young, more fun that way. We were going to go out in a blaze of girls and glory and the coolest spells we could learn. And then you grew up a little to be with Lily, and I grew up a little when I realized I was being left behind, and then you two were Head Boy and Head Girl and the Death Eaters, who had been around as long as we had been in school, were growing more powerful by the day. And suddenly, we graduated, and we had to be adults, and there was a War on.” Sirius chokes back a sob. “I thought we had the rest of our lives, that we’d either win the War or die trying. It all happened so fast, really. Seven years at Hogwarts, graduated in 1978, and here we are in 1981 at the end. Ten years with you, James. And in that time the boy I knew became a man, a father, an enemy of the most powerful Dark wizard ever, and then you were gone.”

            He lifts his head to stare at the sky and the terrain beyond. The world has already been gilded in auburn, leaves falling from the trees and leaving stark silhouettes to rise against the sky. Molly’s garden is untouched by the dint of quite a bit of garden magic to extend her growing season. He can see it shimmering at the periphery of his vision, where his senses relent a little and his magical senses start to take over. Yesterday was Samhain, celebrating endings. The end of an era, at that. The end of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s reign of terror, the end of the Wizarding War, the end of James and Lily Potter’s lives.

            “I never planned for this, James,” he tells the clouds above. “I never even thought about what to do if I survived and you died. I don’t even want to think about the depression I would have sunk in to without Harry. At least now I have a path ahead of me. A new purpose. Time to grow up, Sirius Black, and raise Harry Potter.”

            Some of the grief drains away. He will always miss them, but the rest will numb with time and the knowledge that he’s doing right by their son.

He closes his eyes, not sleeping, but allowing himself to drink in the peace of Molly’s garden. The familiar mingled scents of common potions ingredients along with the equally familiar scents of ingredients used in folk remedies from days long past. The chill of the stone bench under his palms and the contrasting warmth of the air from his Warming Charm. Wind ruffles his long hair slowly, brushing it away from his cheekbones only to fall back in a rhythmic pattern of dancing air currents. In the distance, the squeals of the twins and Bill Weasley’s cries of warning when they are about to uproot something that ought to stay planted. The tingle of the wardings and charms reminds Sirius of the almost imperceptible buzz of magic that filled Hogwarts, day and night. The knot of tension eases in his chest and he lets himself drift.

When footsteps crunch intermittently on fallen leaves and what gravel still exists, Sirius rises from the bench slowly, a little sore from Merlin only knows how long he spent out here. It’s the first time in a very long time that he hasn’t snapped immediately to alertness, wary of something as serious as an ambush or as mostly-harmless as a prank.

“Ron kept him entertained for a while, but he finally started fussing for you. Even Molly couldn’t calm him down once he decided he wanted you.” Arthur hands Harry over, little fists quickly curling one on his shirt and one in his hair. Sirius frees one hand to relocate that hand to his shirt as well, stroking Harry’s hair until the boy starts to relax against him. He tries to rock slowly like Lily always used to when he was getting fussy, but from the irritated look he gets, he isn’t succeeding.

“Thank you, Arthur. Molly was right. I needed a moment of peace to grieve.”

“I find that she usually is. Come along, then, Molly started giving Bill and Charlie instructions when I left the house so she’ll be about ready to leave when we get back inside.”

“Is it really safe to leave them all here alone?”

“The Burrow is more heavily warded than any Order safe-house except for Grimmauld Place. And I owled Remus to have him come play babysitter.”

Sirius nods, accepting Arthur’s logic, and they make the rest of the walk back to the Burrow in easy silence. Harry clings to Sirius like he’s his only lifeline and, in a way, Sirius supposes he is.

The thought is sobering.

After that, the clamor of Diagon Alley mid-celebration is a welcome distraction. Sirius doesn’t bother going to Gringotts for their shopping spree. The Blacks are rich enough that any store on Diagon Alley will happily put anything he wants on credit, for him to come by and pay at his leisure, and he has the entire family fortune at his disposal. Even if it weren’t for that, no store except the ones on Knockturn Alley would deny Sirius Black, known member of the Order of the Phoenix, store credit when he carries the Boy Who Lived with him.

Undoubtedly, Dumbledore and the rest of the Order have already released some sort of propaganda showing Harry as the Boy Who Lived. People certainly seem to recognize him any time he isn’t burying his face in Sirius’ chest. Arthur and Molly do an admirable job of helping break the crowds so they only do a minimal amount of awe in the presence of the Saviour of the Wizarding World.

 

***

 

Even still, it is late before he manages to get home, having Kreacher help him set up a room for Harry.

Well, having Kreacher do most of the work. With house-elf magic, he can do it in a few snaps of his fingers and Sirius is exhausted.

“Master Sirius, if you would follow Kreacher?”

The elf leads him up the stairs and to what used to be Regulus’ room. Regulus’ room and Sirius’ room are the only bedrooms on the third floor, with their well-appointed bathroom between them. The second floor has the library, another bathroom, and what used to be his parents’ room while the first has the kitchen, two bathrooms, and the sitting room.

When Kreacher pushes open the door to Regulus’ room, the green and white decorations have been removed, the room completely stripped, and replaced with all the things Sirius bought today. Kreacher changed the wall color to the same green as Harry’s eyes, which fits with all the light-colored kid’s furniture he bought today. It’s the closest he could find to what Harry would be familiar with from home. In the corner of the room is Sirius’ favorite napping chair, brought from downstairs.

“Kreacher thought Master Sirius would not want to be far from Master Harry. If Master Sirius is happy, Kreacher will make dinner for Masters Sirius and Harry.” Kreacher heads back to the kitchen and Sirius takes a look around. Grimmauld Place doesn’t quite sparkle, except for Reg- Harry’s room, but it is certainly cleaner than it has been in a long time.

“You did a fantastic job, Kreacher,” he compliments the elf. The tips of Kreacher’s ears wiggle and he flushes red. “Thank you.”


	4. Malfoy Manor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius writes to Narcissa, finally, and she writes back with an invitation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm giving up on spacing this out. I'm just going to keep posting what I have, and eventually my updates will slow down.

_November 2, 1981_

_For:_

_Narcissa Malfoy_

_Malfoy Manor_

_From:_

_Sirius Black_

_12 Grimmauld Place_

_Cousin Narcissa,_

_After all this time, I never understood why you would want to rebuild old bridges with your Draco on the way. I thought it was a trick, at first, or a last-ditch effort to infiltrate the Order. I kept the photos, though, and told no one in the Order._

_Not until last night._

_I have taken custody of Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore thinks that it would be a good idea for him to grow up with a diverse upbringing. This includes pureblooded high society, Narcissa, and I would like to offer you as my cousin the chance to guide him in this endeavor. I have been too long absent from high society to be welcomed and he will need a tutor and preferably, a companion his own age._

_If you agree, cousin, send a response back with Kreacher and we will set a time for us to visit and let the boys get acquainted. After all, they will be each others’ best allies._

_Sincerely,_

_Sirius_

Sirius hands the letter to Kreacher over breakfast while the house-elf amuses himself learning which foods Harry likes and which he doesn’t. Once he handed Sirius his food, Kreacher has been perfectly content to ignore him for the most part.

“When you can, Kreacher, I’d like this delivered to Narcissa Malfoy. Wait there until she reads it and see if she has a response for you.”

“Yes, Master Sirius.” Kreacher stops the flight of the last bit of Harry’s vegetables across the kitchen, vanishing his dishes just as suddenly as they had appeared. Sirius is old enough now to know the trick. He doesn’t actually vanish them, just sends them to the house-elf under-kitchen so they don’t make a mess in the kitchen. The house-elf vanishes with a crack, leaving Harry staring after him.

Kreacher has barely been gone long enough for Sirius to lift Harry from the magical restraints keeping him at the table when he hears him return. Harry looks far more like the child Sirius remembers from his visits with James and Lily in the finest Muggle-style clothes that Wizarding tailors can make. With his hair mussed over his scar, Sirius can almost pretend nothing changed.

“A letter from Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy, Master Sirius.” Kreacher hands him the letter and takes Harry over to where a second house-elf, who must be one of Narcissa’s, stands unobtrusively to the side. They entertain him with little feats of magic and conjured toys while Sirius reads.

 

_November 2, 1981_

_For:_

_Sirius Black_

_12 Grimmauld Place_

_From:_

_Narcissa Malfoy_

_Malfoy Manor_

_My dear cousin Sirius,_

_I could not be more pleased about your letter, despite the tragic circumstances which brought Harry Potter in to your guardianship. For the sakes of all honesty, I would like to take my newfound freedom to enlighten you as to the circumstances which drew me to write to you in the first place over a year and a half ago._

_You know, of course, that we are Dark. Our shared family has long been Dark, as have House Malfoy. Very few are like you, dear cousin, and succeed in choosing Light over the family bloodlines. Almost a decade ago, when the Dark Lord came to the Dark families and offered us power and open recognition of our abilities as we had never before experienced in return for our loyalty, it came as little surprise that we chose to follow him almost unanimously. We craved recognition, much as you in the Light do as well._

_I never took his Mark, but Lucius did. I tell you this in the confidences of family, cousin, and I ask that you not reveal it. It is a decision we have come to regret. With taking his Mark, Lucius became… not his own man. We were not happy with that. We were promised power, not servitude. And as the War continued, we, among some of the other old families, began to realize that he did not have our best interests at heart. We were to take the fall for him while he sought immortality and power unmatched by any being._

_This was when I first wrote to you. Lucius and I wanted a way out, especially with Draco on the way. Our place by his side was no place to raise a child, even in a Dark family. I hoped, that were the Dark Lord to turn on us, Lucius could stall him for long enough for Draco and I to escape. To you, if need be. I have always believed in the power of kin, Sirius, and we are kin._

_We have spent the last two years seeking a way out that would not end in the destruction of myself, my husband, and our son. Please believe me when I say that I did not know of this attack that cost your friends their lives. The Dark Lord shared with only his most trusted, and Lucius does not qualify as such. We have never been the zealots that some of the others, my sister among them, have been._

_I would be delighted to guide your Harry in high society and I hope that my Draco would be a suitable companion for him. There could be no better companion for Draco himself, of course, but the public will not like the Boy Who Lived to be closely associated with the son of a suspected Death Eater._

_I would now like to extend an invitation for you to take lunch and perhaps even dinner at Malfoy Manor tonight. I would also like to offer, if you wish, the services of my house-elf Relly to assist in making your home more habitable for a child. She is under orders, if you wish, to obey your Kreacher so that you may have faith in the sanctity of your home. She led the other house-elves here in preparing the Manor to raise a child, as the last one to be raised here was Lucius himself. This offer is, of course, completely independent of my invitation to lunch. Simply tell Relly if you wish her to stay and she is yours for however long you require._

_Included with this missive is a formal invitation to show at the Manor gates that will allow you past our wards. They are more than sufficient to protect the Boy Who Lived from any of the more zealous Death Eaters, were they to attack the Manor._

_I hope to see you very soon,_

_Narcissa_

Wrapped in the letter is an ornately scripted piece of parchment, the perfect example of a formal invitation. Walburga Black would be proud of her niece. In perfectly formed script that, if Sirius did not know how harshly the Black girls were tutored on their handwriting he would have expected to have been written by an automated quill, their names are just a little larger than the rest of the text.

 

            _Narcissa Malfoy, nee Black, invites her cousin, one Sirius Black, and his ward, one Harry Potter, to dine on this day of November 2, 1981 at the Malfoy Manor. This event is a private dinner with no dress code to be attended as well by Lucius Malfoy, Head of House Malfoy, and his Heir, Draco Malfoy. Confirmation of attendance is not required._

            Fantastic. He couldn’t have asked for a smoother reply from Narcissa and, with Dumbledore’s suggestion to go see her, he is confident enough to go to the Manor without backup. Even if they were to try to kill him, they couldn’t kill Harry without repercussions from the Wizarding world. And he doubts any of their differences are irreconcilable to the point of murder, especially when they are kin. Even in Dark magic, kinslaying is anathema, a detriment to the witch or wizard’s magic.

            As soon as he can, he ought to claim Harry as kin. He has the right, as Harry’s godfather, sworn and linked in a magical christening. He can even make the claim on blood, though distantly. He and James think they share an ancestor, four generations back, but the Potters have not kept records the way the Blacks do. With their exemption from the Sacred Twenty-Eight, they do not have to. Claiming Harry as kin would give him the same protection Sirius has against the other Dark families, safeguarding his life against any other pureblood. Unfortunately, unless they are abjectly claimed by a pureblooded family, the kin-magic does not extend to half-bloods.

            Muggleborns can use magic. Purebloods are born of magic. Half-bloods fall somewhere in the middle, depending on blood purity. He learned that at his mother’s knee.

            “Relly, stay here with Kreacher and make the house ready for me to raise Harry. And please move the Dark family artifacts to the attic to keep them away from Harry.”

            “Yes, Master Sirius,” both elves say, vanishing to get to work. Sirius picks Harry up, running upstairs to grab his bag of everything he might possibly need, and Apparates to the gates of Malfoy Manor.

            When they arrive, Harry tugs on a lock of his hair to get his attention and makes a face. Sirius smiles, not quite ready to laugh. “I know, pup. I’m still not too fond of it, but it is quick.”

            He waves the invitation at the gates, the magic in the ink keying the wards to them and opening the wrought-iron gates to them. The serpentine creatures from the Malfoy crest adorn the gates, slithering up and down the gate as it opens. Harry points at them and wiggles his free hand, yanking on Sirius’ hair again when he thinks that he isn’t getting enough attention. Sirius strolls slowly up the path to the Manor, letting Harry point things out to him. Without the pressure of so many people demanding his attention, Harry seems perfectly content to see new things and new places. He just doesn’t like new people that much.

            “Sirius Black,” Lucius Malfoy greets him as they near the doors. “Narcissa told me you would be joining us tonight. She is in the rose garden with Draco. Dobby will be happy to take you there.” A house-elf appears with a snap, bowing to them. Harry points at the elf and touches his ear, then Sirius’ ear.

            “Yes, Harry, that’s a house-elf. Like Kreacher.” Lucius walks away, vanishing into the depths of his home, while Sirius follows Dobby through the corridors. They take paths along banks of windows, stepping from pools of sunlight into the shadows between pillars as the cross the side of the Manor. Out those windows, Sirius sees the enclosure draped with roses kept alive by the magic of house-elves before Dobby directs them to the door.

            “The garden of roses is here, Mr. Sirius Black and Mr. Harry Potter. Mistress Cissy and Master Draco are inside. May Dobby get you anything else?”

            “That will be all for now, Dobby.”

            The elf opens the door, bowing while he holds it open with his magic. Sirius sweeps through with all the grace he learned in his childhood, summoning up the pureblood reserve that he’s tried so hard to bury. It made him stand out as the Gryffindor with the Slytherin family and he didn’t want to stand out. He just wanted to be one of the Gryffindors.

            Narcissa is seated on a straight-backed chair, her serenity betraying just a hint of tension. She always did have all the beauty of the Blacks, more than her either of her sisters. Incredibly beautiful, just like Narcissus who inspired the flower who inspired her name, and yet she was never more interested in her own looks than any other pureblooded woman. She paid attention to them, but was not vain. Her white-blonde hair is swept up in an ornate twist, thin braids wrapping around to hide pins with a single silvered rose in her hair bearing all the details of the living ones around her. Magically crafted, of course. Even the finest Muggle craftsmen cannot manage that detail. Made of the goblins’ living silver, he would imagine, to bloom as she desires.

            She is still tall and slim, as all of their family are, with beautiful features accented by her coloring, uncommon among the Blacks. They tend towards pale skin, dark hair, and dark eyes. He is like that, as was Regulus, as are Narcissa’s sisters Andromeda and Bellatrix. Narcissa, with her pale hair and blue eyes, is a throwback to some distant other ancestor.

            He nods to his cousin, leaving their greeting wordless, and waits for her to finish her once-over of him. He knows what she’s seeing. The War was kinder to Narcissa than to him, and he is certain that his grief still lines his face. She takes her time looking at him until Harry starts to squirm.

            “Welcome to my home, Sirius. Greetings, Harry Potter. Draco, dearest,” she calls to the nearly one-and-a-half year old playing on a quilt in front of them. He looks up, resembling his parents even more than he did in the last photos Narcissa sent him but for the innocence in his grey eyes.

            Draco makes a noise of interest, staring up at Narcissa. Sirius sets Harry down next to him, taking a seat similar to Narcissa’s. Harry holds tight to Sirius’ trouser leg, but pays attention to Narcissa and Draco both.

            “This is Harry, Draco. Harry, this is Draco. From now on, you can trust each other with everything, including your very lives, because you are companions for life. Bringing you together this young will, for all intents, make you companions from birth. Someday, when you are older, you’ll have the opportunity to choose for yourself whether this arrangement works for you and to say these vows with magic behind them. It is an Unbreakable Vow, should you decide to stay companions. This way, you can always have someone who will be faithful to you, no matter your circumstances.”

            By the end, both boys have stopped paying attention to Narcissa and are instead interested in each other, Draco burbling the beginnings of speech at Harry and Harry playing his mostly-silent game of huffing and pointing and grabbing. Eventually, satisfied, Draco pushes one of his toys over to Harry and Harry, noticing that Sirius unloaded some of his own toys on to the quilt, does the same.

            “The words mean something to us, Narcissa,” he comments, “but that’s the real beginning of their friendship, right there.”

            “Very true,” she agrees, her posture easing somewhat out of the stiff formality of greeting guests.

            Lucius joins them once conversation between him and Narcissa becomes easy and friendly, reminiscing about shared relatives and family dinners in their youth. He only joins in the conversation when the topic turns to child-rearing, where Sirius offers up his measly knowledge gathered from Molly, a day and a half with Harry, and what he saw James and Lily doing. In return, Narcissa and Lucius have experiences of their own with Draco to share, some of them further explaining things that Molly had tried to explain that hadn’t made sense to him. Narcissa and Lucius come from his same background, where the Weasleys have been considered blood traitors and mostly shunned from high society for generations. They understand without asking how he was raised and how that influences how he sees raising children. In some places, they are radicals among purebloods, with Narcissa in particular taking a more active role in raising Draco than their parents had with them.

            At lunchtime, Lucius gives a series of instructions to the house-elves, who bring their lunch out to the garden instead of setting the formal dining table. A smaller table with wrought-iron roses holding it up is popped in, allowing the three adults to arrange themselves around it. Their lunch, of course, is a four-course meal. Smaller portions of everything at their table, cut to the appropriate sizes, and some other more child-friendly foods are set floating around Harry and Draco for them to eat, smear on themselves, and smear on each other. The sound of their laughter fills the garden while the adults dine, lightening Sirius’ heart.

            It feels good to hear Harry laugh again. Like the boy won’t have permanent trauma from Godric’s Hollow. With luck, he won’t even remember it and will think his life begins here, either with Draco Malfoy or the littlest Weasley boy by his side.

 


	5. Christmas with Everyone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius has had Harry for a couple months now. Time for Christmas!

“Happy Christmas, Harry,” Sirius wakes him with, giving in to the demands to be picked up and carried. Looks like it’s going to be one of those days. Harry is perfectly mobile at this point, but on some days he still gets clingy and refuses to let go of Sirius enough to move under his own power. Other days, Sirius doesn’t know what he would do without Kreacher.

            In the almost two months that he’s had Harry now, Kreacher has gotten more attached to the pup than Sirius thought possible. The elf that used to curse him at every turn, and even sometimes after he started treating Kreacher better when he lost a sock or something, now spends half his time chastising Sirius on his own language around the little Master Harry. Kreacher still isn’t a model house-elf, not with the chastising Sirius when he picks out what Kreacher thinks is a bad outfit for Harry and occasionally forgetting to make Sirius’ meals in his zeal to feed Harry, but at least Sirius knows that no matter how tragically awful his own parenting skills may be sometimes, Kreacher won’t let the boy come to harm. And a house-elf is a terrible thing to cross.

            Grimmauld Place sparkles, not only completely clean for the first time in Sirius’ memory but also redecorated out of the styles of his great-great-grandparents. Narcissa came over to bring Draco for an afternoon, shook her head at the clean but dismal sight of Grimmauld Place, and sent both boys off to the Manor with Sirius so she could ‘bring the House of Black out of its own stuffy history’. When he returned that night with a sleeping Harry in his arms, hair still slightly damp from his third bath of the day thanks to over-zealous house-elves, he was amazed to see the transformation she’d wrought on their ancestral home.

            In these two months, he and Narcissa spend the day together at least once a week, rebuilding old bridges and making public social visits so that he can earn his way back in to Wizarding high society. They leave the boys with Lucius and the army of house-elves on those days. They make him less and less nervous each time.

Once a week, Narcissa drops Draco off with him to take both boys into the Muggle world and explore. Anytime Muggles question why one of his sons looks like him and the other doesn’t, he just shrugs and says they ought to see their mother. They go and see all the things Lily talked about from her childhood, or at least as many as he can manage with two toddlers with short attention spans.

Once a week, he drops Harry off with Narcissa so she can take them around to her tea parties in high society and get them acquainted with their peers. When she comes back, she always has tales to tell over dessert and coffee about the pack of toddlers wreaking havoc on all the house-elves set to corral them at these parties.

They go to see the Weasleys twice a week, once in which they take the entire party of them out to town to learn how to interact with regular witches and wizards and the Muggles who live in Ottery St. Catchpole. The other time, they sit over all the food Molly can manage to stuff in him, still claiming he’s too skinny, while Harry sits in the middle of the Weasley brood and plays.

The other two days are for him and Harry alone. Harry still needs a day alone with Sirius and Kreacher after spending time with the Weasleys out in Ottery St. Catchpole to recover from that much socialization. He is getting better about it, but it is a slow process. After the other day he spends with the Weasleys, he always seems a little overwhelmed but is perfectly happy to spend the next day with Draco in the Manor.

Kin, Sirius reminds himself. He’s officially claimed Harry now. As a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, he needs a witnessing family from the Twenty-Eight to accept his claim and accept Harry as kin to them, as well. In a single ceremony last night, House Malfoy accepted his claim to Harry and named him kin to them via Sirius. They then made the formal pledge, House to House, to have Harry and Draco as companions until the boys are old enough to make the choice on their own. Finally Lucius, as Head of House Malfoy, acknowledged Sirius officially as Head of House Black and Harry as his Heir.

Today, Sirius smiles, they are due at the Manor for Christmas morning with the Malfoys, followed by a brief trip to the Burrow to greet them and the rest of the Order on the holidays, and then back to Grimmauld Place to prepare for the pureblood Christmas party tonight. Harry’s probably more prepared than he is, actually. This will be Sirius’ first outing in pureblooded society since he ran away to live with James.

He’s pretty sure he only got the invitation because it would be rude for the Zabinis, hosts of tonight’s party, to invite Harry and not him.

Harry protests, slapping at Sirius’ hands, when Sirius tries to get him into real clothes this early in the morning. Regardless, the moment he’s dressed he happily grabs on to Sirius’ sweater. Sirius is all in black for this, with red and gold embroidery dancing around the edges. He has to dress like a proper pureblood, but that doesn’t mean he has to dress like all the rest of them, either.

Harry, to start off with, is dressed similarly to how he was last Christmas out of sentimentality on Sirius’ part. Gryffindor red jumper, this one with the crest of House Black embroidered on it in silver, black corduroys, and grey striped socks. Kreacher takes a picture of them for his ever-expanding scrapbooking project, then reminds Sirius to take care of Harry.

They Apparate straight to the front hall of the Manor to avoid the cold. Narcissa opened the anti-Apparition wards to them a month back when it started to really get cold. Dobby the house-elf meets them there, taking Sirius’ cloak and the cloak he didn’t manage to get Harry to wear.

“Happy Christmas,” he greets Narcissa and Lucius, stepping in to the main sitting room where the Christmas tree is.

“Happy Christmas,” Lucius drawls in return as Narcissa takes Harry. He squirms for Sirius for a moment before he sees Draco. Sirius smirks. Supplanted in his godson’s emotions by a toddler in green and black.

For now, both boys completely ignore the presents. Sirius supposes that they don’t really know what those are quite yet. Instead, Harry gestures wildly at Draco and Draco babbles back at him. As far as conversation goes, it seems to work for the two of them. A few sparks of wild magic make the fairy lights closest to the boys flare brighter and flash different colors until Lucius, with a wave of his wand, puts them to rights.

The flashes of wild magic are getting more and more regular the more time the boys spend together. Sirius remembers that piece from his childhood, though James and Lily never quite understood it. Lily was born to a Muggle family, after all, and James was an only child whose family did not associate much with the other purebloods. Wild magic sparks earliest in purebloods, especially when more of them are together. The Weasley children’s own wild magic is always sparking, putting gnomes in dresses and changing their mashed potatoes to marshmallows. Compared to that, Harry and Draco’s magic is still completely tame.

“Shall we?” he asks, having already sent over the last of his presents after he put Harry to bed last night.

“I think we may have to take a photo, first. Kreacher and Dobby nearly got into a fight over who got to arrange the presents under the tree last night.” Narcissa flicks her wand before sliding it back up her sleeve, setting a camera floating far enough away from the boys to be out of reach. Draco points it out to Harry, who yanks Draco’s sleeve in response.

Before they can actually get into a tussle, Narcissa starts plying them both with presents. They decided that the novelty of opening presents would win out over the actual contents of their presents, so both boys end up with quite a bit of individually-wrapped treats made by the house-elves for them and some new outfits suitable for them to wear at the Christmas party tonight.

Draco babbles at Harry as the adults confiscate their treats for later, then claps his hands together. Dobby the house elf appears, bowing, when Draco babbles at him. The only real word in there that Sirius doesn’t think is a lucky happenstance is ‘food’, though Draco hasn’t mastered consonants yet, so it comes out as ‘foo’.

“Yes, Master Draco,” the elf squeaks, and food starts appearing on all the side tables. Harry applauds, but remains silent. Sirius worries about that, but both Molly and Narcissa think it is just all the new situations he has been in and the overwhelming change in his life.

“It appears that it is time for breakfast. Harry, Draco, you will be sitting at the table with the rest of us.” Both boys nod and walk over somewhat unsteadily, standing between two chairs until Narcissa spells them into their seats.

The house-elves have really outdone themselves, Sirius considers while he munches. Trying to put their piece in to what is a very big day. They signed the contracts for Draco and Harry to be companions, after all, but have not made the public announcement as of yet. That will happen tonight, after which the boys will be allowed to be as inseparable in public as they are in private.

“You said on Wednesday that you were going to pick up the boys’ tokens?” he leads as the house-elves vanish the rest of their meal, bringing the adults fresh cups of tea made perfectly to their tastes. When Harry gets grabby at Sirius’ cup, a pair of child-proof cups full of lukewarm tea appear in front of each boy.

“Yes, I did. Dobby will bring them now.” She snaps, and the elf reappears with a slim ebony box.

On top of the lid are the names _Harry Potter_ and _Draco Malfoy_ in silver script, flanked by the sigils of Houses Black and Malfoy. The catch is not a Muggle catch, able to by manipulated by hand, but rather two interlocking pieces of metal have to be spelled apart. Pureblooded families use them a lot because they are intuitive- a tap of magic, no actual spell, just a will for the lock to open. He lets his wand slip from his sleeve- habits from the War are not so easily broken- and taps the lock. The twists slither apart, consolidating into twin spirals on opposite sides of the lid. Sliding his wand back in to place, he takes his habitual glance over at Harry and Draco because they’ve been quiet for too long.

Both of them sit riveted by the strong magic of the case and the items inside, staring with the impossibly wide eyes of young children. Harry is slumped forward against the table, fists pushing his hair out of his eyes and revealing his scar. Sirius keeps leaving Harry’s hair long so that he can hide his scar and pretend, if only for a little bit, that he is a normal guy taking his godson out shopping. Draco stopped to stare while drinking, leaving his cup turned at a precarious angle with tea dripping slowly to the tablecloth. For the moment, they ignore it. Neither child is a particularly neat eater, not at their age, and the house-elves can work miracles on stains. Kreacher has saved some shirts of Sirius’ that he thought were done for after trying to let Harry eat while he walked from place to place.

Sirius lifts the lid, revealing a classic dark red velvet interior divided into several compartments. On the far left rest two pairs of silver studs. Goblin silver, Sirius knows without asking, because they are the richest families in Wizarding Britain and are expected to reflect that. The dual ring in his left ear is his pair, coalesced into a single earring because he likes it better that way. Without a doubt, he knows that the delicate earrings Narcissa wears with their chains too thin to be anything but goblin silver are her own pair. He would bet that under the curtain of his hair, Lucius wears a pair as well. This is a tradition so deeply ingrained in them that even when he ran away to live with James, he never stopped wearing his companion marks.

In the next compartments are two pendants on chains that they will have the option of wearing when they are older, once they know more about who they are. The magic in those is too powerful for children. The pendant shifts into whatever is a reflection of the witch or wizard’s soul, usually either their Animagus for those who have the ability or their Patronus for those with that ability. It is simply too much for children to know what is in their heart, but the pieces have to be attuned to them in the official ceremony tonight. Both necklaces rest in boxes of matching wood with the lids set underneath them for display, for easier storage. For now, the pendants are simple silver twists, elegant and meaningless.

The next useless piece is a pair of rings, set in to slots on the necklace boxes. Many purebloods use those predominantly for their understated elegance and that they do not draw attention, but they won’t fit until the boys are older. Probably by the time that they go to Hogwarts, actually.

The final piece, the ones that they will use until they grow into the other pieces, are soft leather cuff bracelets with silver decoration that, for once, is purely decorative. Well, it doesn’t move. It monitors their magical signatures as they grow and adjust the spells on the other people to their changing magical signatures. It was a clever piece of spellwork that stopped the practice of redoing the ceremony every year while children grew.

“Lovely,” he comments to Narcissa. “You picked out a lovely set.”

He shuts the lid and the latch closes automatically, locking in the potent magic. Draco’s babble resumes almost instantly as the spell of rapture woven around the table snaps.

All three adults heave a relieved sigh. The potent magic will abate once it has done its work, tying in to their magical signatures, but for now it is overwhelming even to them. Sirius imagines that is what it must be like to be Ollivander. Wands do not emit as much magic when unclaimed, searching for their master, but to be surrounded by thousands of wands all day long? The man’s eccentricities are not without reason.

“I believe you are now running late to the Burrow,” Lucius notes, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Owl one of us to come fetch Harry when you are ready to leave and we will get them both dressed while you go change as well.”

Sirius nods. He has to get back into his pureblood habits which include rarely thanking people. _Thanks are callous and easy_ , his mother always told Regulus and him, _so they are a waste of words. Remember who does you a good turn and never forget, but do not waste their time with empty words. That is the Muggle way, not ours._

Sirius thumbs over the ring on the thumb of his wand hand, an extremely thin band of silver, and wonders if Lucius and Narcissa’s companions are still alive. He knows Narcissa must have sworn the permanent bond because she still wears all her jewelry, but Lucius is still too buttoned-up for him to tell. And he favors gloves. It must have shaken the pureblood society up quite a bit, the War, because the magic that binds companions makes their loss a physical presence and an ache anytime they use their magic.

He ought to know. He and Wilkes swore the extended vows, which gave them another five years to make their choices, before graduating from Hogwarts. They didn’t like each other- Wilkes ran with Snape in his gang of Slytherins- but it was what was expected of them as purebloods without fiancées. His mother owed Wilkes’ mother a favor, and made him Sirius’ companion despite being only a technical pureblood. Before they chose different sides, of course. They were three months away from the expiration of their contract the their subsequent release from the magical ties when Wilkes was tracked down by the Aurors and, resisting arrest, killed.

He was on the battlefield at the time. Remus Apparated him away when he collapsed and his magic went wonky, not even permitting a proper Shield Charm.

Much as he finds himself more comfortable with Narcissa and less wary around Lucius with every passing day, this is also a safety measure for Harry’s sake. He’s sure that they see it the same was for Draco. So long as Harry shares a magical bond with the only son and Heir of the powerful Malfoy family, he has a modicum of protection from the other Dark families. Similarly, so long as Draco shares a bond with the Boy Who Lived, his family is protected from the remaining members of the Order who may be a little overzealous.

“I’ll see you in the evening, then,” he says, scooping up Harry to the tune of angry not-quite words from Draco and little fists on his chest from Harry. One of the house-elves lower in the hierarchy, one of the ones who Sirius doesn’t know by name, levitates Sirius’ cloak in place and hands him Harry’s cloak. Not a chance of getting Harry cloaked now, so he hopes that the walk from outside the Burrow’s wards to the front door isn’t too long and cold.

It is.

The front door opens with a creak, breaking the quiet of the grey afternoon with the sounds of a party in full swing. Wizarding crackers pop and hiss and occasionally neigh or bark, earning delight from the children as they beg and steal the toys inside from negligent adults and barter them among each other. Harry’s sulk shifts to a touch of apprehension as he recognizes where they are and that it is more crowded than usual. People fill every last square centimeter of space, but attempt to back away and give Sirius room to move with the Boy Who Lived anyways. The excited whispers follow in their wake, not quite as loud as when they walk in public, but a little less than comfortable anyways.

Remus takes one look at them from across the room and hits them both with a well-placed Drying Charm before Molly manages to reach them, backing Harry away from the ledge of a tantrum and saving Sirius from a lecture. Sirius brushes his hair back on that side, folding his index finger and dragging the other three across his ear. Out of the corner of his eye, Moony grins and returns to rocking Ginny Weasley before someone claims her from him.

“And what time do you call this, Sirius Black?” Molly scolds, whipping Sirius’ cloak off and floating it up into the rafters with the rest of the folded cloaks. Harry’s cloak is yanked from his hand and put up there, tucked inside the bundle of Sirius’ own.

“Won’t happen again,” he assures Molly, though it most definitely will. She frowns, drawing herself up as if he’s one of her children who just broke something, when sparks fly out in the crowd and the twins cackle wildly, running in opposite directions. Molly brandishes her wooden spoon like a wand, striding off after one- Fred, by the large F on his sweater, though Sirius has learned enough to guess that it is actually George.

Sirius wanders the party with Harry, letting him keep a death grip on Sirius’ shirt, letting all the members of the Order here tonight see him and many of them brush their fingertips against Harry’s scar. Harry trembles each time one of them does it, but doesn’t throw a fuss.

They end up in Molly’s garden, one of the few places where they can have a little quiet. The flowers are mostly dead now apart from a few crucial plants ringed with charms, but his most powerful Warming Charm dispels the cold enough to make them both comfortable. Harry squirms out of his arms to look at the live plants, returning to Sirius and demanding help back on the bench.

Harry mumbles something at him. Caught off-guard by what might actually be Harry trying to talk for the first time since James and Lily died, Sirius just sits and stares at him. Which is bad parenting, as far as he’s been lectured on. He’s supposed to keep Harry engaged and learning, not stare at him like a fish.

“Da,” Harry tries again, pointing at Sirius.

“You probably think so, don’t you? Well, I’ll let you call me whatever you want so long as I can teach you about your parents and their sacrifice.”

“As you well should,” Albus Dumbledore intones with the same gravity he always carries with him. Sirius sits up a little straighter from where he is sitting on the ground, leaning against the bench to be at eye level with his godson, while the Headmaster sits down next to Harry. “How is he doing?”

“Adjusting, sir. His entire life was in a single house, limited to three people and a cat. The outside world and all the people were overwhelming at first.”

“And how are you adjusting?”

“I have people to help me, though Molly must think me a lost cause some days. As far as adjusting to having Harry in my life, it hasn’t been as hard as I thought it would be. I didn’t have much of a life before, not with the War and trying to keep James and Lily company. Now, I’ve just replaced the War with Harry.”

Dumbledore nods sagely, bringing a toy out of his sleeve for Harry. A magical puzzle, Sirius recognizes, which is extremely difficult to maneuver apart without controlled magic and very easy with it. Old Wizarding families give them to children to try and get them to focus their wild magic in preparation for eventually using a wand. In school, McGonagall had them work with more difficult ones to try and learn how to do wandless magic.

“And the Dark families have accepted you back, despite your allegiances.”

Sirius glances up at Dumbledore, a little suspicious about this line of inquiry. Dumbledore is nearly omniscient when he wants to be. He does not usually play at asking questions like this.

“Yes,” he decides on the simple answer, staring off into the distance. This close, he can hear Harry muttering almost imperceptibly to himself and he suddenly wonders how long he’s been doing that. Maybe Draco’s one-sided conversations with him weren’t as one-sided as he thought.

“Good. Lemon drop?”

Sirius takes a candy from the bag offered before Dumbledore makes his departure, not watching to see if he ducks back inside the Burrow or heads straight for the edges of the wards to leave. Harry tugs at his toy, looks at Sirius with woe in his eyes, and tugs at it again. Another piece moves, but when he grabs at it to move it, one of the pieces he just loosened slides neatly back into place. Harry groans in frustration, shaking it, and loses all his progress.

“Come on, pup,” he laughs, scooping Harry up with one arm. “Time to go find your Uncle Remus.”

 

***

 

Several hours later, Sirius’ Patronus dances around him as if begging to be petted while he dictates a message to the Malfoys. He would owl, but he doesn’t want to go home to send the message and the Weasley owl, Errol, is a little more tipsy than any owl has a right to be. Arthur blames the twins. He finishes his message, shooing his Patronus away with an instruction to go to Narcissa Malfoy.

Harry is happily ensconced on the hearth rug with the other little ones, clapping with delight as the twins focus their wild magic as best they can to change things. Sirius is not sure how much of it is happy accident that they’ve managed quite a bit and how much is the effects of seven pureblooded children living in tight quarters. The fact that Harry’s magic is sparking as if he were a pureblooded child is a testament to the power in James’ family. James must have been a terror at this age.

Merlin, he wants to run. Maybe at the new moon, if they don’t have anything going on, he can convince Remus to watch Harry for one of their days when they don’t usually leave Grimmauld Place. Let him Apparate somewhere inconspicuous and stretch all four legs, feel the frost beneath his pads. He’s sure that the only reason his secret is still secret is because everyone was too busy with the War to question how he and James got out of a few scrapes. In a forest, four legs is freedom while two is a limitation.

The wards chime as someone passes them. Molly frowns and Sirius waves her away, willing to take care of this himself. If one of the other members of the Order answers the door, this will get a lot more awkward quickly.

“C’mon, Harry,” he instructs lightly, watching as Harry pushes himself up from the rug and follows. None of the younger Weasleys notice, only the Longbottom boy. He’s as quiet as Harry these days, ever since he was permanently separated from his parents, too.

The costs of war are not always paid by those who fought.

Narcissa smiles a false smile until she realizes who opened the door, relief flashing in her eyes. It would have been too much for Lucius to come here so soon, he realizes. At least Narcissa was a non-combatant. She has already changed into a deep green evening gown with her hair pulled up around the goblin-silver rose, a matching clasp holding her cloak. Sirius waves his wand, retrieving his and Harry’s cloaks from the rafters, and wraps Harry up. Harry looks between them and, when Narcissa offers her hand, reaches up to take it. Without another word, the odd pair of elegantly dressed woman and messy child make their way back down the drive, leaving Sirius to make his goodbyes and go explain to Kreacher why he doesn’t have Harry.

Screw the goodbyes. He can explain to Molly and Arthur later. He is almost to the edge of the wards himself when he hears the unmistakeable crack of Disapparation. It eases the knot of tension whenever he lets Harry out of his sight to know that by now, one of the house-elves is probably plying Harry with a treat to get him to behave while they get him changed.

He Apparates back to Grimmauld Place, wondering if Kreacher decided to help him pick out the proper attire for an event he hasn’t been to for years.

An hour later, Kreacher steps back from the seventh outfit he’s had Sirius put on. And that after he took not one, but three showers and a barrage of personal cleaning spells before Kreacher decided he was clean enough. Sirius hasn’t been this clean-shaven since he was old enough to grow facial hair.

“Master must own something nice that does not have holes,” Kreacher grumbles to himself. “Master Sirius is a very rich wizard who likes his clothes looking like he was attacked by tiny mice.”

Sirius sighs. Insolence is just how Kreacher is, at least around him. At least they’ve dropped the accusations of being a blood traitor now that he’s officially taken the mantle of House Black and is returning to high society.

“If Master Sirius can undress himself, Kreacher must search the wardrobes again.” The elf doesn’t wait for a response, leaving him to manage ridiculously tiny buttons behind his back. Because Wizarding clothes, especially those preferred by purebloods, are not designed to be taken off alone.

Rude house-elf. He rips the shirt off, scattering the buttons. If Kreacher doesn’t want to repair it, he can just buy a new one. As little as he looks like it, he is one of the richest men in England.

Kreacher returns with a black shirt pinstriped with silver threads and a waistcoat. An oldschool waistcoat that looks ancient. A pair of slacks, black socks, and shiny leather shoes float behind him along with a frankly alarming number of hair products. At least he thinks they are all hair products and wonders where they came from.

“This will have to do, Master Sirius,” he complains, “because Master Sirius is due at Malfoy Manor in an hour and Kreacher needs that last hour.” When Sirius doesn’t reply, the elf sighs heavily and starts fitting Sirius into clothes he doesn’t recognize from his wardrobe with more tailoring spells than anything else they tried on.

“How did I not know I owned these? I would have remembered buying them.”

“Master Regulus owned them, Master Sirius, and so they belong to you now.” Kreacher sits him down on his bed heavily with a burst of house-elf magic, hopping up behind him to set to work taming his hair. Every time he starts to doze off, Kreacher yanks at a snarl with muttered curses, keeping him wide awake. Finally, just before he is due at the Manor, Kreacher releases him and pushes him over to the mirror in the corner of his room.

He looks young again, not aged prematurely by the War. His hair is pulled back into what he presumes is a silver clip, the way any pureblood males with long hair are expected to wear it formally. Between that and his lack of his ever-present stubble, the lines of his face are more clearly defined. Everyone always thought that James was the handsome one and Sirius his scruffy sidekick, forgetting what the Blacks are known for.

He looks like his brother, actually. Or what Regulus would have looked like, given a few years.

The clothes help with that impression. The waistcoat helps carry the gravitas he lacks, Regulus’ bold streak in the midst of his pureblood conformity coming through in the glittering silver stripes on the shirt.

Sirius swallows, accepting his cloak from Kreacher. Someone else’s silver clasp has been Transfigured into a dog, and he smiles as he Apparates to the Manor.

“About time,” Lucius grumbles, sweeping out to meet him in an inky black Muggle suit with his cloak around his shoulders and the ebony box under his arm. In his other hand is his walking stick, where Sirius is certain his wand is hidden in the handle. His father had one almost the same.

“I’m not late, Lucius.”

“No, but it is taking the entire army of house-elves to keep the two of them from getting dirty while eating ice cream and I am dying for an espresso.” Lucius rolls his eyes. “Come fetch yours and I’ll fetch mine. Narcissa shouldn’t carry squirming children who aren’t fond of their dress clothes while in heels.” A piece of paper floats over his shoulder to Sirius, holding the address of the Zabini mansion. He puts it in his inside pocket with his and Harry’s invitation. The writing holds a magical location, which at his age is enough to guide his Apparation.

Harry and Draco scowl at them when they all enter, squirming in matching black dress clothes, tailored by the house-elves to fit. Draco and Harry wear silver suspenders with the sigils of their Houses embroidered on their shirts in the same color. The house-elves pulled Draco’s hair back in mimicry of his father’s, and Harry’s hair looks… brushed. Which is a big improvement. Even Kreacher doesn’t have the patience to actually make it look that way. Sirius wonders if it would crunch if he touched it, like how Muggle girls keep their hairstyles up.

He takes a deep breath, picks Harry up to complaints from both boys as Lucius does the same, and Apparates to the Zabini mansion.

 

***

 

Sirius forgot how absolutely horrid pureblood parties are for people on the outside. Groups form quickly, with companions sticking together and often bringing their significant other and their companion along. Very few purebloods aren’t wearing a companion token. Companions are considered just as permanent of alliances as marriage, just with both families being able to continue their own bloodlines.

They also tend to be a little more protective of each other. Pureblood marriages are usually arranged marriages of convenience, so they grow to love each other or at least tolerate each other. Companions grow up knowing each other and, once they get to school, are usually the other’s closest ally.

Which makes for a very awkward party when half the room hates him for siding with the Order, and all their companions play along, leaving him with a grand total of five adult allies in the room. Narcissa. Lucius. Narcissa’s companion, Violet Parkinson. Lucius’ companion, George Zabini. And George Zabini’s wife, because they are actually a love match and her companion isn’t present, Zahara Zabini.

All of the children, on the other hand, love Harry. Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson are the only other young children here tonight who have a companion already. Pansy already showed everyone how her mother taught her to make her earrings look like a pansy. Because, you know, Pansy. It was cute the first four times.

Lucius corrals both of them when it is time for the public ceremony, flicking his walking stick and proving to Sirius that he does have his wand in there. Silver cords snake out, tying to the back of both boys’ suspenders and to Lucius’ wrist, and he walks them away on leashes. All the other children follow, giggling.

Sirius can’t decide whether he’s affronted that he would do that or offended that he didn't think of it first.

The adults all collect their own children, ringing the Malfoys and Sirius when they get out to the patio. Warming charms spring up around everyone, making the entire space far too hot, and half of them disappear. Sirius and Lucius, as Heads of their Houses, set up the contents of the box while Narcissa gets Harry and Draco to stand still, holding hands.

“All of us gathered here are related by blood and by bond. In continuation of our traditions, House Malfoy and House Black have agreed to make their respective Heirs, Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter, companions.”

The crowd titters in response, especially at naming Harry the Black Heir. Sirius hears quite a few murmurs of _he’s not even a Black_ but chooses to ignore them.

“And so, without further ado,” Lucius declares, getting a little louder with people not listening to him. They turn to the box and take out the earrings, pretending not to notice when Narcissa whispers a spell before moving away from the boys. With magical precision, they pierce their ears and wrap the bracelets around their wrists, securing the locks with magic that will allow them to be adjusted for size but not removed unless by the Heads of Houses Malfoy or Black.

There is a moment of silence, and then people return to milling about. A companion ceremony is a serious event, so nobody mars it with jokes or fun until everything has been cleaned up and the boys are back with the other children. Sirius remembers that from the handful of them that he’s been at.

The party swallows them once more, and Sirius pastes the false smile back in place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of Sirius' perspective. Theoretically, if anyone else has things they'd like to see from Harry's childhood with Sirius, give me a shout and if I feel inspired, I'll give it to you. Otherwise, the next section of Growing Up Wizarding will start from Harry's perspective on the way to Diagon Alley to get supplies for Year One at Hogwarts. 
> 
> Thank you for reading- please give me feedback! This is the first time I've actually publicized any of my fiction writing.
> 
> Love,
> 
> nagapdragon

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you! I have several more chapters pre-written, but if you enjoyed this and there is anything in particular you would like to see from Harry's childhood, give me a shout over on my Tumblr!


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